By the sea by the beautiful sea
by MLaw
Summary: A simple excursion to the beach becomes complicated for Napoleon and Illya. Originally posted on Live Journal for the PicFic Tuesday challenge. pre-saga
1. Chapter 1

It was unbelievably hot, even for a Summer's day. Napoleon had the next few days off as did his partner but Illya's solution to dealing with the extreme temperatures was to volunteer for desk duty in headquarters.

Solo's answer was the beach, not just any beach though; he decided a ride to the Rockaways was in order where the pristine white sand beaches were far enough from the city to suit him. He could have gone to Coney Island, but knew it would be crowded, but at least in Far Rockaway it was more locals and less out of towners.

"Beach?" Illya exclaimed."I want to get away from this unmerciful heat, not be in it."

"Where's your sense of adventure my friend. Sun, sand...women in bikinis."

"Napoleon that is your fantasy not mine. Now if the temperatures were frigid and you said snow, ice-covered landscapes and beautiful Russian women in which to be snowed in within a cozy dacha...I would not hesitate." Illya actually smiled.

"Snow, ice? How can you think of that? Well mentioning beautiful Russian women at least tells me there's hope for you."

Illya dismissed his partner with an unconcerned wave of his hand. "Have fun in the hot sand."

"I'm sure I will.

The drive via the Cross Bay Blvd, took around forty minutes, but given it was a Sunday, the traffic was less than usual. He was headed to Beach 98th St. and a small house owned by one of the ladies in the secretarial pool, a Kathleen Rosebrook. Though she wouldn't be joining him, she handed over the keys to the family bungalow without reservations. Just the thought of the Napoleon Solo staying at her place, sleeping in her bed was apparently was such stuff as dreams were made of.

Solo made a mental note to take her out for dinner and drinks (and for whatever else might follow) at a later date since her interest was definitely there. If anything he needed to show his appreciation for loaning him the house for a few days.

Unless he was called back to the city for an assignment, Napoleon had the run of the place until Wednesday. He tried one more call on his communicator to see if he could lure Illya away from headquarters, just for the heck of it, but his partner didn't answer.

As Napoleon turned the key to the door of the cozy little bungalow so typical of the area, he found it unlocked, and discreetly pulled his weapon, holding it at the ready.

He slowly pushed open the door with his left hand, hoping there would be no creak, but one never knew with these old places. The house had to have been built in the 1920's at least.

"You are late," a familiar voice called out.

"Illya?"

"In the flesh."

"Who the heck told you where I was going and how did you get here before me?"

"A little mouse named Kathleen mentioned to me yesterday that she was loaning you her little cottage by the sea, ergo when you asked me to go the beach with you...I put two and two together."

"Clever Russian." Napoleon's attention was suddenly diverted as he sniffed the air.

"I smell...Chinese food?"

"Yes, I just had it delivered in anticipation of your arrival. I also brought a bag of groceries."

"Wait how did you know...nevermind," the American shook his head.

He dropped his small suitcase, sitting down at the kitchen table with his partner and partook of lobster egg foo yung, chicken with cashew nuts, dumplings, egg rolls and Illya's favorite, wonton mein soup...as usual a veritable feast.

Once finished eating, Napoleon located the bright master bedroom that was obviously Kathleen's; Illya had already laid claim to the smaller room at the back of bungalow.

Solo peeked inside his partner's bedroom, seeing a full set of diving gear piled on the floor.

"Planning some scuba diving chum?"

Illya called from the kitchen while washing their dishes. "Yes, I figured it would be much cooler than sitting and baking in the sun. There is a wreck up along the coast and I have engaged a local fisherman to take me there in his boat. An interesting fellow by the name of Walter, he's referred to locally as the Commodore."

"Man tovarisch, I have to say you work fast," Napoleon chuckled."Well you be careful exploring, I hear a few of these shipwrecks can be pretty dangerous...and mind the sea life too. Plenty of sharks and…"

"When will you stop being such a mother hen my friend. This is purely recreational diving and I will be fine. Given you are not enamored of the water, I was surprised to hear you'd chosen such an excursion out of the city but then I recalled you said the beach would be covered with bikini clad birds," Illya cocked an eyebrow as he smiled." So I suppose you will be involved more in a form of bird watching than swimming. I will therefore leave you to your ogling…"

"Hey how'd you get so smart tovarisch?" Napoleon grinned.

"It has certainly not been from hanging around with you," Illya jabbed.

"Hey you just went from being a smart Russian to a smart ass one my friend."

"Thank you."

The bantering back and forth went on while they set up a checkerboard on the kitchen table and after few games, Kuryakin called it a night, saying he needed to be up early.

.

Illya left the next morning just as the sun was coming up and well before Napoleon woke.

Solo checked his partner's room when he woke, seeing everything was empty. and after having a light breakfast, changed to his bathing togs and headed with beach blanket in hand for the boardwalk. There he picked up a large glass of iced tea and walked down the steps to the immaculate white sand.

He found a spot far enough from the water so as to not have to move when the tide came in and after spreading his blanket and spread some cocoa butter on his skin to help him tan, he heard the sound of a loudy transistor radio suddenly blasting from behind him.

_"We'll all be planning that route_

_We're gonna take real soon_

_We're waxing down our surfboards_

_We can't wait for June_

_We'll all be gone for the summer_

_We're on surfari to stay_

_Tell the teacher we're surfin'_

_Surfin' U.S.A."_

"Oh wow isn't this beach just the ginchiest" A girl in a red polka dot bathing suit declared rather loudly.

"Yeah, sand is sweet, but not as sweet as you baby."

"Oh Frankie you're the tops," she practically swooned.

Napoleon rolled his eyes, thinking he'd been invaded by the cast from one of those obnoxious Beach Blanket movies that had become so popular.

"Do you mind turning down your radio a bit?" Solo lifted his sunglasses, eyeing the group of teens behind him.

"Hey old dude, we have a right to be here just as much as you do."

He ignored the comment, not wanting to start trouble as they were only kids. "Absolutely, but common courtesy should be observed and you should be a little respectful of…"

"Your elders, yeah yeah old man. We get it," another of the teens called out.

"I was going to say...neighbors," Napoleon restrained himself from saying something he'd regret...or rather they would.

"No Bonehead, he's right, " the girl in the red bathingsuit interjected." We should be considerate, otherwise we teens will have a bad reputation to live down. It's bad enough that some people don't like our kind of music."

"Actually I do like your music very much. It's just that I work hard for a living and am here to relax, enjoy the sand and surf ...and the view in relative peace and tranquility," Napoleon pleaded his case.

"Sure Mister, I understand," Annette said. "We can move farther up the beach if that would help? Right Frankie? And you Bonehead," she spoke to the other boy." Right?"

"Yeah you're right," he hung his head.

"I wouldn't want to impose…" Napoleon smiled charmingly. "My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo." He held out his hand to Frankie and then Annette".

"What a cool name," Frankie smiled," Hey Napoleon do you surf?"

"Me, no not really. Water and I don't get along too well. I prefer terra firma myself."

"Terror firmer?" Bonehead scratched his noggin.

"Terra firma...you dope," Frankie said."That means solid ground. I guess we won't be doing much surfing today though as the waves look pretty lame. We're visiting from California and the waves there are much better for surfing."

"California? You're quite a ways from home aren't you? Napoleon asked.

"We're here for Frankie's cousin Eddie's wedding. Most of these kids with us are his family. Only Bonehead tagged along with me and Frankie from home," Annette explained.

"Well tell you what, for your inconvenience of moving up the beach...I'll treat you kids to some pizza and pop later on. Just let me know when you get hungry.

"Gee thanks Napoleon, that's awfully nice of you. There's a really good pizzeria just a block away, called Romeo's. Best Pizza in Rockaway," Frankie smiled." I was born here and my family moved out to California when I was just a kid, but I still remember my way around.

"Sounds good," Napoleon smiled. "I just need to check in with my friend a little later as he's scuba diving at a shipwreck near Fire Island."

"Wow that's a good ways away. I hope he didn't try to swim it from here?" Frankie asked.

"No he chartered a boat early this morning with a fellow named the Commodore."

Frankie laughed out loud. "That's my Uncle Walter! Small world isn't it?" He was a Commodore for the Rockaway Yacht Club, that's how he got the nickname name. He's a real character my Uncle, but your friend couldn't be in better hands. What wreck is he diving in?"

"The U.S.S. San Diego."

"Oh wow, that's a pretty dangerous one. I hope your friend knows what he's doing; there's been a few people killed down there."

"Peachy," Napoleon mumbled.

.

The powerful Jersey skiff owned by Walter F. Lawson a/k/a the Commodore, weighed anchor just shy of 11 miles southeast of Fire Island Inlet. Illya Kuryakin stripped off his white tee-shirt to only his black bathing trunks and proceeded to put on his diving gear.

"Now remember boy, she's down around 115 ft, and lies upside down so be real careful you don't get disoriented inside her," the Commodore took on a lecturing tone of voice."There's been a few divers killed down there because they got all turned around. You sure you're experienced enough for this dive son?" The Commodore seemed overly concerned.

"Not to worry as I am a very experienced diver,"Illya nodded as Walter helped him heft on the the air tank.

"Well all right then. I'll expect you to be back here," he looked at his wristwatch," by 10 o'clock."

"Yes Walter, I am well aware of my oxygen limits, as I said I am an experienced diver."

"You better be careful of stingrays, the Atlantic Torpedos and sharks... watch out for them too, especially Blue sharks as they travel in larger numbers and are real stalkers."

"Yes Walter I am familiar with most sea life and even sharks." Illya shook his head, wondering why people insisted on mothering him. Did he look that helpless?

Illya lifted his legs over the side, and before Walter could say another word the Russian inserted his mouthpiece and disappeared into the cloudy water in a frenzy of air bubbles.

.

Anchored not far away was a tugboat called the "Annie" but she wasn't manned by her usual crew; several men onboard were dressed in diving gear and had just headed over the side.

"We got company Willie," one of the others said to man acting as Captain.

"Nah, ain't nothin' to worry about. It's just a fisherman. Let's just get what we came for from the wreck and get outta here."

"You sure they're on the San Diego? Wouldn't the navy have cleaned it all out by now?

"That's exactly right so why would they be checkin it again you idiot, I'm telling you I got an inside scoop from a geezer who served on the ship. There was nothin left so it's a perfect place for our suppliers to stash the goods. That way we can bring the stuff to shore with nobody suspecting a thing."

"Okay Willie, I'm taking your word for it," Louie said, "but there better not be no complications." He pulled a pistol from the waist of his pants and cocked if for effect…


	2. Chapter 2

Having arrived at the coördinates of the wreck site of the U.S.S. San Diego, Illya embarked on his recreational dive. It was rare that he had occasion do do so and at first he was invigorated by it.

He paddled down into the depths, moving slowly as he had a way to go. The water conditions were a bit cloudy, making him a little concerned for the underwater residents Walter "The Commodore" Lawson, the captain of his charter had so pointedly warned him about. Given there had been deaths related to recreational dives at the San Diego; Illya had a momentary doubt about the wisdom of this undertaking.

Still, as he had reminded the Commodore, as he now reminded himself; he was an experienced diver and could handle pretty much anything, but just as a precaution he'd strapped a rather large serrated knife to his dive belt.

There were a few fish that came into view now and then, and even a sea turtle crossed the Russian's path, but luckily no sharks were within immediate view. Not that they couldn't appear within the blink of an eye; the apex predator of the seas...especially blue sharks could move amazingly fast once they sensed blood in the water.

All the more reason to be careful for Illya not to cut himself once inside the wreck.

As usual Kuryakin had read up on the U.S. Diego before deciding to make his little diving expedition into the depths of the inlet. This was a piece of American history from the time of World War I and it had piqued the Russian's curiosity. He had been unaware that a naval vessel had been sunk by their enemy so close to American shores in recent history.

On July 19th in the year 1918 at 11:05 in the morning, the crew felt a thud to the port side of the engine room, though it was those working that area who quickly felt the effects of the explosion from a torpedo that had just struck the San Diego. Within twenty minutes, the ship slowly rolled over and was gone along with six members of her crew. Astoundingly the rest of the ships personnel were able to abandon ship and get safely away. Historically a German sub designated U-156 was credited with the sinking of the American ship and after laying mines around the it, U-156 too was sunk on her return voyage after encountering a minefield.

Illya finally reached the site of the wreck, finding it lying upside down. He was somewhat amazed that the wreckage was still here after all this time in the briny deep, given metal corrodes in salt water.

The superstructure of the massive armor belt along with the hull and it's contents looked to had been crushed into the sandy bottom. In it's heyday The ship weighed about 15,000 tons fully outfitted and loaded for duty. Two eighteen foot diameter propellers were driven by two steam powered engines. The four cylinder engines were supplied steam by sixteen boilers.

The remains of the San Diego however, were listing to the port side, allowing more light on the lighter starboard side as it's six inch guns had been removed prior to the voyage to New York from Portsmouth, New Hampshire just before it was sunk.

The port side of the ship was referred to as 'the dark side' because of the shadow in which resided as well as the sand line being higher on this side because of the list. The stern had collapsed, but the propeller shafts; each the diameter of 55 gallon drums, protruded outwards into the water at the seventy foot mark. The propellers had been recently removed but one had somehow been lost while on its way to Staten Island.

A bilge keel on each side on the hull ran a good length of the ship and were attached to give the ship stability. These intern gave divers a line of reference for navigating the wreck. Along 'the light side', the 3-inch guns could still be found sticking out from their mounts in the hull.

It was the inside of the wreck that Illya wanted to see and the many holes in the hull gave him access to investigate the dark interior.

The inside didn't resemble a ship, but rather a junk yard of collapsed machinery, bulkheads, and ship stores. As hallway and rooms ranging in different sizes could quickly become clouded by silt, making visibility nearly impossible...here it was where the danger began and where most of the fatalities had occurred.

As he swam forward, using his underwater flashlight to study his surroundings Illya suddenly felt as though he had company. The instant thought that a shark was behind him made his heart pound and as he slowly turned, but instead there was a pair of divers behind him, and just as suddenly one of them fired a speargun, sending the razor-sharp barb directly into the Russian's thigh.

.

"Say Napoleon, " Frankie approached the agent, blocking the sun and enabling Solo to see him standing above him."

"Hello Frankie," Napoleon still shielded his eyes with his hand. "You kids ready for lunch?"

"We won't hold you to that...but we are going to Romans anyway and Annette and me thought we'd ask you to come with us."

Napoleon stood, brushing off some sand. "Hey a deal is a deal, I offered to buy you kids lunch and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Okay you're the boss," Frankie agreed.

Solo gathered up his things, and headed off with Annette, Frankie and Bonehead. The other younger kids didn't want to eat and remained behind to enjoy the water and keep and eye on the other's surf boards.

Frankie led the way to the pizzeria, but before entering Napoleon excused himself, saying he had to make that phone call to check on his friend. Like Superman, he ducked into a nearby telephone booth, and picking up the black receiver, he pretended to use it while putting together his communicator.

"Open Channel F-Kuryakin." He waited a few seconds." Hello, Illya are you there?"

Solo looked at his watch, noting that it was not quite noon, though he'd expected his partner to have been done with his dive by now.

He suddenly had a niggling feeling that something was wrong, and in the case of the Russian that feeling was usually right.

Napoleon walked into the restaurant and stopped in his tracks; a broad smile suddenly appearing on his lips, as what he saw momentarily made him forget about his partner. The dining area was set up cafeteria style and was virtually identical to the Commissary at headquarters, right down to the blue molded plastic chairs.

He looked at the man behind the counter and grinned. It was Gino Federici the former chef at U.N.C.L.E. New York, with the man having retired only a year ago; sadly leaving a man nicknamed "Cookie" and his army style cooking to bring gastronomic distress to the employees at headquarters.

"Hey you serve any Russian food here?" Napoleon called out.

The man making the pizza behind the counter looked up.

"Well as I live and breathe, Mr. Solo. Hey how are ya?" The silver-haired man laughed.

Napoleon reached across the counter, shaking the man's hand in greeting. "I thought you retired and headed down to the islands? What gives?"

"I am retired. This is my brother Roman's place and I'm just pinch-hittin' for him while he's having surgery done on his knee. He's gonna be laid up for a bit so I came back from Jamaica to give him a hand. You still workin'…._there?_"

"Until the day I die,"Solo chuckled," or if I hit retirement age, which ever comes first."

"Hey from your mouth to God's ears Mr. Solo. So what can I get for yous?

"Well I guess I should order…"

"No Napoleon, we already ordered a pizza and some drinks," Annette called.

"What'll ya have to drink then Mr. Solo?" Gino asked.

"Oh I'll take a Tab, thanks."

After getting his drink Napoleon joined the kids at the table they'd staked out.

"So everything all right with your friend Napoleon?" Frankie asked.

"I'm not sure as I wasn't able to get hold of him. I would have thought he was back from the dive by now."

"Tell you what, let me call my Aunt Grace to see if Uncle Walter got back from the charter. He usually goes straight home after he's done."

The pizza arrived and they were all eating when a few minutes later Frankie returned, looking concerned as well.

"Wow this pizza is really gnarly,"Bonehead remarked as he bit into his slice oozing with hot melted cheese.

"Frankie what's wrong?" Annette looked up, seeing her boyfriend's eyes filled with concern.

"My Aunt said my Uncle hasn't come home yet and she's getting pretty worried about him."

Napoleon shook his head, as Frankie's pronouncement was a definite red flag. Taking a last bite from his slice of pizza and gulping down his soda, he stood.

"Look, kids I'm sorry but I have to go find my friend."

"No way you're leaving us Napoleon. If your friend is missing then there's a good chance my Uncle Walter is with him and they both may be, well... Uncle Walter would never leave customer who was in trouble...if that's what's happened."

"And that holds very true for my friend as well," Napoleon said as he pushed in his blue chair.

Solo handed some money to Gino with a quick apology for taking off but Federici understood these things all too well.

"Good luck Mr. Solo," he called but Napoleon and the kids were already out the door...


	3. Chapter 3

Napoleon headed back to the beach as the kids car was there, and it was closer than his as he'd left parked in front of bungalow. three blocks away.

Though it took but a minute, Frankie and Bonehead insisted they fetch their surfboards along with Annette's and they tethered them atop the rack of an older model Ford Country Squire, affectionately referred to as a 'Woodie' because of the wood panels on the outside. It was a car favored on the west coast by the surfing and beach crowds there.

Once loaded the kids climbed into the vehicle with Napoleon slipping into the driver's seat.

"Hey I'll drive," Frankie protested,"I know where to go."

"So do I and I'll do the driving. I'll be less likely to be pulled over by a police officer than you and I have….let's say, I have special driving privileges."

Solo took off, taking the Ocean Parkway; estimating it would take about 45 minutes. He deftly wove in and out of traffic, traveling at fairly high speed, but luckily there were no police cars around to see an old Woodie being driven by what looked like a madman. If there had been, they would have surely been stopped but all Solo had to do was flash his U.N.C.L.E. identification and they'd be off. The NYPD knew about the organization and since Waverly's friend was the chief of police, there was an understanding, as it were.

Frankie directed Napoleon to roughly where the San Diego lay off shore and as they pulled up on the vacant shoreline Annette called out.

"Look, there's a boat out there. Is that your Uncle's Frankie?"

He shaded his eyes, squinting for a moment. "It could be...it's hard to tell as it's not that far out and definitely not as far as where the wreck is located. It actually looks like it might be drifting as the tide is coming in. Come on let's go Bonehead grab your board."

"Wait a minute…"Napoleon said with trepidation, but he knew there was no other way to get out there. "I'm coming too."

"You don't know how to use a surfboard, you said so yourself."

"I'm a quick learner."

"What about me?" Annette asked.

"You stay here with the car, " Napoleon quickly responded."If we don't come back with the boat, you go to a telephone and call this number. Ask for Mr. Waverly and tell him what's going on and tell him I need help. My friend's name is Illya, Illya Kuryakin...and remember to use my name."

"Okay Napoleon, good luck," she leaned over, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Hey me too?" Frankie protested."

"You I'll take care of later," she smiled.

"Is that a promise?"

"Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

That made Frankie smile as he grabbed his board and dashed to the water's edge with the others. After a quick lesson on paddling and maintaining one's balance, the three shoved off heading out into the open water.

"Pace yourself," Frankie called," It's a long ways off.

The three were pretty tired by the time they reached the boat, with Frankie confirming it belonged to his Uncle Walter. As they balanced on their boards Bonehead called out his warning.

"Hey dudes shark in the water!"

A fin suddenly appeared from beneath the surface, followed by a second and a third.

"Bluefins!" Frankie yelled as the three scrambled over the side into the boat. "There must be a pretty big kill in the water to have attracted this man...lots of blood."

That was before they turned and saw the blood smeared on the floor of the boat. There was no sign of Uncle Walter or Kuryakin…

.

Illya let loose a silent scream as bubbles released from his mouthpiece, but that didn't stop him. He grabbed his long knife from his belt, lashing out at the two men now paddling towards him.

Blood filled the water as the blade made contact with one of them, slicing into this neck, and most likely he'd be dead in a few minutes. The lines leading to the other man's air tank was sliced...leaving him scrambling for oxygen.

He let go a canvas bag in his hand and Kuryakin, though in pain, wanted to know why they were here and possibly attacked him; they answer lay in that bag, no doubt. He caught it as it fell and hooked it onto his diving belt.

Illya knew he had to work fast as the amount of blood in the water was going to quickly attract sharks, a lot of them.

He paddled out through one of the holes in the bulkhead, heading straight for the surface...ignoring the rules of decompression for the most part. Stopping at the 50' foot mark for 2 minutes as a safety precaution was the recommended rule but Kuryakin cut that down to thirty seconds. He had to get out of there. At what he estimated was 35' below the surface, he stopped for roughly a full minute before proceeding, at 20' he did the same. There were still no sharks visible but that could change in the blink of an eye.

At the 15' mark he should have hovered for 3 to 5 minutes but it was then he spotted them… a large school of bluefin sharks, but there was an even more ominous dark shape among them; it was an enormous bull shark.

He paddled for his life to the surface, knowing he was going to pay the price for doing so as he'd probably have a mild case of the bends. He'd survive them...but the loss of blood from the spear in his leg might lessen his odds substantially. Still, better than being eaten alive by a shark.

The sunlight silhouetted the outline of the boat above him and he headed straight for it, and as head broke the surface; Illya spotted that immense fin heading his way.

"Walter!" He yelled loudly, grabbing onto the side of the the Jersey skiff. Kuryakin's arm wrapped around the railing and he felt a strong arm grab and pull him up, hiking the Russian on board. The blond fell gasping to the deck as the Commodore immediately began to pull off the diving equipment.

Illya grabbed his head, moaning; not knowing if the pain there was worse than the pain in his thigh.

"Jesus-H. Christ, what the hell happened to you?" Walter bellowed.

Illya tried sitting up but the symptoms of the bends, though apparently mild, were setting in. He was dizzy, nauseous; having trouble breathing and his skin felt like it was on fire as it began to itch.

It was the accumulation of gases in his muscles causing that; he knew all the scientific reasons for his discomfort. Right at the moment he could care less was causing his symptoms; he only knew what needed to be done to help ease them.

"Bends…" he managed to get out. "Need oxygen."

Walter grabbed Illya's breathing apparatus and shoved the mouthpiece into the Russian's mouth. Taking long slow breaths, Illya knew the air would help if he just remained calm and slowly breathed in and out...still it was easier said than done.

After a few minutes he finally removed the mouthpiece; able to speak between taking more breaths of oxygen.

"The canvas bag on my belt...open it."

Walter unhooked it and undoing the string keeping it closed; he reached inside coming out with a handful of jewelry. There were sparking rings set with diamonds, earring, pearls…it was a virtual fortune with what he just held in his hand and there was much more in the bag.

"Where did you find this?"

"Two men...in the wreck were carrying it...they were the ones who attacked me."

"Where are they?" Walter casually dropped the bag to the deck; the contents spilling out as he focused his attention on the spear sticking out of his customer's thigh.

"Dead, I hope. One is for sure as I cut his throat with my knife, though it was unintentional as I was going for his breathing tubes. The other I managed to cut the tubes to his tank. I imagine they are now fodder for the sharks that have gathered."

Walter glanced up, seeing a number of shark fins breaking the surface. That was but a momentary distraction as he took a closer look at Illya's wound.

"We need to get you to a hospital boy."

Illya gave no argument there, but as he was about to agree; he looked over Walter's shoulder, seeing a diver climbing onboard. It was the remaining one whose breathing lines the Russian had cut...he must have taken his diving partner's tank. This time he was carrying the now reloaded speargun and he was aiming it at the two men.

"You ain't goin' nowhere just yet. Old man, sit down and put your hands on your head...you too blondie." He reached over, grabbing the radio handset and switching it on; he was calling the tugboat.

"Willie to Annie, come in Annie."

"This is the Annie," Louie responded. "Where the hell are you?"

"We had some complications boss. Some guy was in the wreck...he killed Mario and took off with the jewels. I caught up with 'em though. I'm on the Jersey skiff off your port side."

He took that moment to lay down the speargun to wave to the nearby tugboat.

Illya saw his moment and dove at the man, trying to wrestle him to the ground, but the spear protruding from his bleeding thigh and his weakened condition had sapped all his strength and he was easily beaten off.

He fell to the deck, moaning in pain a well as at his failure to overwhelm his opponent.

"Fuckin' bastard," the man lashed out, kicking the downed blond in the side. "

"Willie, come in. What the hell's goin' on over there?" The voice over the radio demanded.

"Nuttin' boss," he caught his breath." What do you want I should do with 'em?"

"Stay put. We're comin' to you."

"Hey old man, yous got a first aid kit?" Willie asked.

"No, never needed one."

Willie shook his head. "Got a towel and some duct tape?"

"Yes that I do have," Walter nodded.

"Get 'em now and no funny business or else I'll slit your friend's throat.

Walter returned with the supplies and watched in horror as Willie sliced into Illya's leg and removed the spear. The Russian barely moaned while it happened.

"Now tape the towel over it," Willie ordered.

The Commodore did as he was told and once done he checked his passenger's closed eyes.

The Russian was unconscious.

"Now tie his wrists with the tape," Willie barked.

Once that was done, Walter's wrists were wrapped with the duct tape as well just as the tugboat Annie drew up alongside.

Walter and Illya were moved onboard and the spilled jewelry was quickly gathered and shoved into the small black duffle bag Illya had tucked aside with his belongings. Reaching inside Willie found a gun with a K inlaid in the grip.

"Well will you look at that...sweet." He tucked the gun into his belt, continuing to rifle through the bag.

There was a silver pen and a wallet and he opened it...helping himself to the cash; a moment later he cursed aloud as he pulled out Illya's ID card.

"Shit boss," he called back on the radio. "Blondie here is an U.N.C.L.E. agent...Illya Kuryakin. A freakin' Russian to boot. What we gonna do with 'em?" Willie asked.

"We're going to take them out to sea and dump them overboard. Weigh the anchor on the skiff and set it adrift...we'll make it look like a boating accident...and bring all that shit with you."

The tug's engines were started up and it slowly pulled away with the prisoners onboard; the crew not seeing the three men on surf boards paddling their way out from the shore.

.

After searching the skiff, Napoleon snapped his fingers; turning on the homing device in his communicator and seconds later he smiled. There was a signal and it was fairly strong. He looked around, doing a 360 degree turn, and it was then he spotted the tugboat heading out to sea.

"Get ready for a ride boys," he said, quickly starting up the boat. The agent's instinct somehow told him his partner and hopefully the Commodore were onboard that tug.

The powerful engine of the Jersey Skiff roared to life and Napoleon brought her about, heading out in pursuit. He pushed her to full speed as there were quite a few miles between them.

,

Annette nervously watched from the beach as the boat belonging to Frankie's uncle took off, going away from the shore and out to open waters as a very high speed. That was her signal to get to a phone and call this Mr. Waverly.

She hopped into the driver's seat of the Woodie and flooring it, the spinning tires sent up a storm of sand into the air. There was a telephone booth a small marina she remembered passing on the drive here, and it was maybe a mile or so away.

She pulled into the parking lot in record time; jumping from the car and leaving the engine running only to be stymied. Someone was using the phone booth.

Annette waited politely; pacing back and forth but when her patience was at an end she began to rap on the door.

The man inside opened it, red-faced with annoyance."Keep your shirt on kid. I'll be done when I'm done!"

Annette didn't have an aggressive bone in her body but this was now an emergency to her and she reached inside, hanging up the hookswitch. She grabbed the receiver from the bewildered man's hand and slammed it into the cradle.

"Your call _is_ done Mister….this is an emergency and I need the phone. Now get out of my way please?" Despite her aggressive actions, she spoke politely.

"Sure honey...yeah, um sure go ahead." He stepped out of the booth." It's all yours."

Annette inserted a dime into the coin slot, and waited as the telephone rang.

"Lisa Rogers here,"she answered Mr. Waverly's private line.

"Ummm hi Miss Rogers," Annette spoke demurely," I'm calling for Mr. Solo. I think he's in trouble and he told me to call this number."

That got Lisa's immediate attention and she listened carefully as Annette filled in the details.

"All right Annette, good job. I want you to drive back the beach where this all started and wait there. One of our teams will be there shortly."

"But you don't understand Miss Rogers...they're heading out to sea following another boat from what I can see…."

"Understood Annette. Now please do as I ask."

The phone went to a dial tone and Annette hung up. She climbed back into the Woodie, obeying Lisa Rogers instructions.

Lisa reported the situation to Alexander Waverly and the immediate order was issued for a backup team with two Bell 47 Ranger helicopters fitted with pontoons that would allow them to land on the water.

"Miss Rogers get me Mr. Solo if you would please?" His tone of voice remained calm.

"Solo here," Napoleon responded to the chirping of his communicator.

"I have just been informed of your situation. Can you give me an update?"

"Yes sir. We're in pursuit of a tugboat and I suspect Mr. Kuryakin is onboard as is and innocent named Walter Lawson….umm I also have two people with me at present, Mr. Lawson's nephew and a family friend."

"Mr. Solo," Waverly huffed, "when will you stop involving innocent bystanders in your escapades?"

"Trust me sir, it wasn't planned."

"Very well, we will discuss all of this in detail later. There is a team heading your way and two helicopters. Will that suffice?"

"Yes sir I think that will do. Solo out."

Napoleon pushed the skiff until it finally caught up to the Annie and circling it; he was able to slow down the other boat, until gunfire erupted from the tug.

"Get down!" Solo ordered Frankie and Bonehead as he drew his special, returning fire. Though Napoleon ordered them not to, the boys followed him as he jumped on board the tugboat where an immediate knockdown drag-out fist fight ensued.

Louie took aim, firing his gun, grazing Solo in the shoulder and was readying to shoot Frankie and Bonehed when the Commodore beaned the gunman over the head with the canvas bag of jewelry; knocking him out cold.. At that moment he two helicopters appeared in the air above them.

"Cease fire on board the tug!" A voice ordered over a loudspeaker."Or we will blow you out of the water.

There was a moment of silence.

"Throw your weapons over the side, get on your knees and put your hands on top of your heads. One false move and you will be shot."

Members of the backup team were lowered down via a winch and cable; taking immediate charge while Napoleon looked to his partner and the others.

"You okay tovarisch?" He whispered, cutting the duct tape from Illya's wrists, but there was no answer as the Russian was barely conscious.

"He has a case of the bends and has lost a lot of blood," Walter said; rubbing his wrists as Solo freed them as well.

.

After everything was wrapped up, Mr. Lawson and the other innocents were brought back to headquarters for a brief meeting in Waverly's conference room.

"Well Miss Funicelli, Mr. Avalone and Mr. Hedderman you performed admirably today. Still you took unnecessary chances however, so in the future…"

"They'll mind their P's and Q's," the Commodore chimed in. "Though in this case I'm glad my nephew, his friends and your agents came to the rescue. How is Mr. Kuryakin by the way?"

"He's recovering from his injuries as is Mr. Solo. Though it was inadvertent this incident helped solve the largest burglary ring to date on Long Island. Rest assured Mr. Lawson we'll make sure your boat is repaired and we'd like thank you as well as your family and young friends. Now, one of my agents will escort you from the building and of course, your visit here to U.N.C.L.E. is not to be made public knowledge. Good day."

Agent Lopaka the head of Security appeared to take the guests away.

"Oh," Frankie turned before leaving," Please tell Mr. Solo the offer of surfing lessons still stands."

"I will indeed Mr. Avalone," Waverly cocked a bushy eyebrow; giving a little smile as he picked up his pipe from the ashtray.

.

Kuryakin awoke in the Medical wing at headquarters, feeling nicely numb from the morphine that had been administered to him.

"Hey partner, quite a little adventure you had there," Napoleon smiled whose arm was in a sling.

Illya lifted his oxygen mask to speak. "Tell me about it...is the Commodore all right?"

"Mr. Lawson? Yes he's fine. Are you up to answering some questions?"

"Yes, I feel fine at the moment, no doubt due to dose of opiates I have been given. Did you recover the bag of jewelry?"

"Yes, and your former captors confessed to what it was all about. Seems there's been a rash of burglaries all up and down well to do residential areas of the South Shore. The thieves were using the San Diego as a sort of dead drop for the goods, transferring the jewelry to be picked up and delivered to the right people to fence it all."

"Interesting. I am confused though...how were you able to find me and so quickly."

Napoleon smiled. "The tracer in your communicator and it helped the thieves used your ditty bag in which to put their cache of jewelry. I also had a little help from some friends shall we say and I just might be getting surfing lessons from them to boot."

"You surfing? This coming from a man who is afraid to swim..." Illya finally broke a smile.

"Hey it could happen. You'll have to come with me to the beach when I do."

"Perhaps, "Illya shook his head, " but not for a while as I think I have had my fill of sun and surf for now…"

"Yeah maybe I have too chum," Napoleon slumped back in his chair; lurching forward with a hiss as he'd forgotten about his injured shoulder. "So much for a relaxing weekend."

"Napoleon, why do these things happen to ...us?"

"Lucky I guess chum."

"That I do not consider luck at all my friend," the Russian shook his head.

**.**

**FINIS**


End file.
